The Red Room
by Raziel1575
Summary: A Series of events leading up to Walters arrest. XX NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART XX Its very disturbing and makes people sad. so.... Read and Review
1. Prisoners of mistakes

**Prisoners of Mistake**

WARNINGXX: This Fic contains some violence and or neglect against children and other human beings if this will disturb you at all DON'T FUCKING READ IT! I don't want to hear your bitching.

DISCLAIMERXX: I do NOT own anything from The Silent Hill franchise. So again I say PLEASE KONAMI DON'T EAT ME!

Behind the privately owned orphanage Wish house lays the gigantic stone tower with a water tower on the top of its 10 stories of dank resonating horror. It was not always so but it is now. The swirling mists rose up trying to swallow the tower and make it go away. But there was an evil that seemed it would never recede.

The tower had once been fully staffed and fully operational. Now it's just Walter and the children that lie in the decaying morbid infrastructure. Walter had occasional visits from the police with warrants due to the piercing wails that escaped into the black night. But nothing else dared to enter those macabre corners in the darkest pit in Silent Hill. Even maggots crawled away from that place. On this visit however, there was only one car that pulled up, and it belonged to detective Andrew J. Sloan. The visit was short with only a heated argument and hasty accusations. The detective left with nothing new but an unsettled mind. Not a single child told him of the atrocities that he _knew_ had happened to them for fear of the red room. The cops, well just detective Andrew Sloan, left with a bunch of shit cooked up by some 8 year olds about how they're treated well and fed three hot meals a day and loved and nurtured by their provider.

SLOAN

As Sloan drove away from the tower he rubbed his temples in disgust trying to wipe away those small emaciated faces. He drove through the serpentine road shut off from the rest of the world by an entangled mesh of tress strangled by moss. All the way Sloan couldn't help but shed some tears for those children. They were trapped with a mad man whom the detective thought was behind the string of grizzly murders and a few other foul crimes.

The recent murder of Billy and Miriam Locane and William Gregory the police had uncovered five other heinous murders. The only connections are the violence and brutality and approximate location. All of these crimes were sinister in nature. The victims were good members of the community. It was after Gregory was found dead at his workshop in Ashfield that Sloan saw a man in a long gray coat with dreadlocked hair, brown being replaced slowly with a dull gray, walking from the scene with a slight limp that may have been from a struggle with a certain dead watch dealer. This man, he found out, was Walter Sullivan.

WALTER

Filled with rage Walter burst from his observation room to the cells where he kept the children. Walter detested visits from the proper authority. He went to cell A13 and pulled open the door, ready to murder violently a child to ease his anger, to find the cell completely empty. But he did hear another boy crying in the room adjacent to A13. Walked calmly to A14 and unlocked the door. The boy looked into Walters face and whispered the words, "please don't" in hopes to escape his torture and execution. Walter would hear none of this. All that mattered to him was his rage needed to be let out, and on the bright side one less bowl of gruel to serve. He ripped the boy out of his bed and dragged him by the hair the whole way down to the red room. He got into the elevator and slammed his palm on B2. It was a long ride because the elevator was old and hadn't been used in some time. 3 minutes later they were there.

The red room wasn't necessarily _painted _red so much as the blood that spurted from the severed veins of his victims. These victims were not part of the ritual. It was just a hobby of his. Almost everything in the room was either caked with dried gore or rust. The red room used to be the towers medical room. It was used for all things from check up to autopsies. Now this boy would be a live autopsy. And it was for nothing more than to lighten Walters's mood.

He strapped the boy to the blood stained metal table once used by actual doctors for actual procedures. Now it's only use is for acts of sadism by a deranged monster. It had many puncture marks and some nails deeply imbedded in the metal. The straps were made of strong hardened leather. This child had no chance in hell. He squirmed and wriggled like a fading fly stuck to the paper. The boy thought, _what have I done God? I'm sorry, please stop him. I won't be bad anymore. I promise_. Walter started to play with a buzz saw and finger some jagged rusty scalpels.

"So what's your name little boy?" Walter asked amused by the squirmy little ump.

"My name's William Mister Sullivan. Why are you doing this to me?" He asked in a loud voice between sobs.

"You whine too much," he said and walked up to William with a large scalpel in hand. "I've killed a Billy before. Little Billy Locane. Mmmmmmm. Have you heard about them? The Locane murders that is? Oh well. I don't care. So what would you like for Christmas little Billy?" he asked as he ran the scalpel along his face gently as to not cut but make him shiver and wince with the anticipation of the abominations to come.

"My name is WILLIAM! I'm not Billy! You're a monster!" The boy cried trying to lash out at his captor. This only made Walter laugh.

SLOAN

Andrew was driving east on Katz street and then turned right onto neely street. He was headed to Bar Neely's to get a cold drink to ease the pains of the day. Old man Neely knew how to treat a customer.

He asked Sloan, "Why the long face Andy?"

"Works just gettin' to me Charlie. That's all."

"Well what can I do ya' for Andy?" the bartender asked cheerfully.

"Uuuuhhhhh. I'll take a whiskey sour." Andrew replied

"You got it pal!"

Charles Neely had owned and operated that bar for as long as Andrew could remember. He'd had a lot of fond memories here. He had gotten drunk here on his 18th birthday. Mister Neely had stayed open late just so he and his buddies could party. He and Charles had quite a history together. He was like a father to Sloan. Mister Neely was a stout fellow about 5 foot four inches tall. And came in at about 215 pounds, most of which was distributed around the gut. He was a happy man, married to a loving wife and had two kids both attending college. Sloan had been drinking steadily for a good thirty minutes before he told the barkeep why he was down.

"Work is just… It's just too much. I'm on the Walter Sullivan case," as Sloan said this Neely's brow furrowed. Nobody in Silent Hill liked to talk about Sullivan. Everyone knew stories. Like how he stole children in the night, or how he's the son of the devil, some even said he ate the children at that orphanage. Who knows it could be true. Sullivan was always seen ducking into alleys with that mutt of his. He continued, "I mean. We suspect him for the seven local murders, and." As he said this he hushed his tone. "We think he's murdering the children from that Wish House we shut down. No one was ever found. No watchers no children… NOTHING!"

"Quiet down Sloan. Just settle. What do you plan to do about Walter? Huh? He's clouded by all these damn wives tales. It'll look like a freakin' witch hunt." Charles said after looking around the room to check the surrounding people. They were nothing but the normal drunks who hung out there.

"You think I don't know? I just need a shred of evidence to check that fuckin' basement! I know that's where he keeps everything. God this guys a fucking freak. I hope he dies in a God forsaken cell." As Sloan said this he pulled out a pack of Jacks and lit up. He inhaled and instantly he seemed to relax a bit more. "Okay Charlie you know the deal. I didn't tell you anything. And I'll uhhh. Pick up the tab later in the week. If that's would be ok I'd really appreciate it."

"Yeah sure that's fine. And Sloan," he paused, "maybe you should uhh… Go around the red tape and look at that basement. I think you'll find what you're looking for.

WALTER

Walter pulled his arm back swiftly and pushed forward with an almost inhuman power and made a gash on the same face he had been caressing. Blood trickled out of the wound freshly opened and flowed down his soft skin. It pooled momentarily at the bottom of his face and then dropped to join previous dabs like it on the examining room table. Walter knew this would just be the beginning. He had many plans for this boy. Ironic his name is Billy though.

Walter made his way to the little metal stand usually used by hospitals to hold medical instruments such as the ones Walter used. He had added some other implements to induce terror and pain. These improve devices included a buzz saw of the small variety, a hammer and a box of long nails, a ice pick and a scratch awl. Leaning up against the shelved table/tray was an old wooden baseball bat. It was small, for children. You couldn't get a good two handed grip but a nice one handed swing would shatter little bones easily.

Walter stroked the hammer like the knee of an old lover, gently and lovingly. He pulled the tray table closer to the boy. He made sure William could see every single device. Billy had just stopped his crying before Walter had brought over his ghastly display. The tears began to leak anew. He tried to escape. Frantic at the thought of death.

"So **_Billy_**, I know that you've wanted a puppy," he said hiding something in his hands behind him, and continued, "But this will have to do instead!" Walter shouted as he brought the hammer from behind his back. He pulled out a sleek new nail from its box. Billy was wrought with dread and was spastically shaking. Walter stretched his hand out to meet and steady the young boys. Walter was a large man and effortlessly succeeded in the task of securing the boys hand and pressing it to the table.

"Hush my little boy. It won't be long now," Walter said in a soothing voice.

"Why did mommy leave me there?" Billy asked, clearly in shock of some sort.

Billy like all the other children in the bowels of that tower were from Wish House before it was abandoned and left to rot. He was dumped by his mother, a teen who knew she couldn't be good for the child but loathed the thought of abortion. She left it in the only orphanage that didn't ask questions.

Walter ignored this question for he too had been left at Wish House by an uncaring mother. He lined up a nail on the hand of the child and raised his hand high as if he were Thorr ready to smite the wicked. But as in most cases these days, the wicked do all the smiting. He charged his hand down with ungodly speed and drove the nail into his hand. He repeated the wretched process three times more. Steady sooth spike. Steady sooth spike. Steady sooth spike. And then, for poor William Sentoro, all went black. Unfortunately he hadn't died. He had just merely passed out due the excruciating pain of crucifixion. Walter then played around with some electric wires and a car battery he found in the closet and made the boys limp body spark back to consciousness. Then, he walked to the far wall where there was an outlet he plugged in the buzz saw and revved it up. William didn't have a chance to scream. Before he became fully aware of his situation there was a saw slashing through his sternum crunching his bones and tearing his muscle. Blood was splashing Walter in the face and just about everything else in the room had just become wet and those few spots that weren't covered now were. Walter then used his mighty saw to shred apart the corpse of little William. He tossed the still warm parts down a shoot to the dogs below. The sounds of a macabre feast ensued. Crunching, gnawing, and scraping noises cam from down below.

Authors note Im sorry if that fucked up your day. I told you it was disturbing. You should have taken heed! Review it now!


	2. Trials of pain

**The Trials **

**Of**

**Pain**

SLOAN

Andrew was driving home from the bar and he was driving through Silent Hill to get to his apartment in Ashfield. He looked out the window for only a split second and he thought he saw a pack of dogs fighting each other. He took a double take and thought he had seen into a nightmare. The dogs dripping tongues were much longer than that of a natural dog. And their coats were full of mange and missing in patches. They were fighting over the carcass of their former companion. Their snouts were dripping with blood. Then one looked at him and he screamed. Not a terrified scream. He was just a little startled. He rubbed his bleary eyes and the dogs were no longer there.

He rushed back to his apartment. Sloan was cruising at 55 mph in a 35 zone. All he wanted was to go home and sleep off the booze.

Thoughts were racing through his head. His mind was always reeling back to what Charles had said. Cut through the red tape. He stroked the 5 o'clock shadow on his chin. Before he knew it his turn had come upon him so he veered right and pulled into his parking space. And put his heap in park.

He got out of his car and lit up another cigarette. He took a long drag and got walking, throwing the car door back to its rightful place. Shut and forgotten. He took the door key in his hand and got through the door. And he began to ascend the stairs when he heard metallic scrapes on the ground outside. He went to the window of the door and saw that all the street lamps were out but one.

It had a grotesque monster that was scraping its rust ridden and blood stained claws on the ground under its spotlight. Sloan's jaw dropped and the half smoked cigarette dropped to the ground.

WALTER

He listened for hours as the dogs below chowed down on the boy's parts. He had saved one piece of the child for his own pet pooch. He had the still warm heart in his hand and tossed it at Sykes, his mutt of a dog. The under dogs as he called them were nothing like Sykes. They were feral dogs he caught out in the surrounding woodlands beyond his tower. Walter didn't often venture out into the woods. He knew what was out there. The world not even God could control, the shiftings, and the monsters.

Walter watched in disgusting glee as he watched his mage ridden companion eat the heart of the most recent slaying. He chuckled a bit. Not too much as to make the moment maniacal but just enough to show his appreciation for the macabre feast being played out in the basements basement.

Walter put on his coat and called to Sykes. He had to go get some supplies down at the hardware store. He never left Sykes alone. Maybe Walter liked the company, maybe he just liked the dog to be with him for security reasons. Either way they were always together. Walter walked out the doors of the tower and heard a chorus of wails from the towers innards assault his ears. He hadn't noticed from the basement the children were crying. There were only 15 of them left. Many were dying of starvation. The locking mechanism is stuck in the east hall so 9 were dying very painfully and very soon. It's not that he actually cared about them, just that he couldn't get to their bodies to dispose of them. No doubt that ass hole Sloan would be nosing about.

The time of day never mattered to Walter. Time had forgotten him so he forgot time in turn. When he exited the tower it was fading light. The sky was grey with the fringes of pink at the horizon.

He stepped past the tower and into the woods trees looking like they would swallow him into their dark embrace. He passed through the dark woods and into the town. The people there had heard of Sloan's suspicion. The looked at him with a look that said I know. He slipped through to the hardware store. Old man Pattorsun was terrified. The figure walking through the door scared him more than the fires of hell. He staggered back and put a hand on the gun under the counter. All the people of Silent Hill had armed themselves. They hadn't planned on leading a raid on Walter but he scared the shit out of the townsfolk.

Walter passed Pattorsun and went into the section where he kept the nails. He bought a half dozen boxes and a nice new drill.

He got the money from the funds left behind by the orphanage and donations from the historical society. People had always wondered why the society donated. They said it was charity but people thought otherwise.

He bought the tools and looked into the deep blue eyes of the shop owner with his steely gaze. Pattorsun trembled at the sight of the murderer.

Walter paid for the items and broke the wretched gaze and walked out of the small shop. As he left Pattorsun slumped his way to the floor with tears streaming down his face. He now understood what he just did. He had his head in his hands and he sobbed uncontrollably and looked up. He asked God why She would do something like this to him. He lowered his gaze slightly and fixed it on the gun. He put the gun to his head and cried harder. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" he shouted as he pulled the trigger and his heads inside flew to freedom upon his wall. The blood and tears mixed in a sorrowful requiem.

SLOAN

_Dream sequence_

Sloan was in a deep sleep and was tossing and turning. The sweat was dripping off him and was cold. His mind being plagued by the demons of the day. Walter, The zombie-esque creatures, the dogs. He saw Walter torturing the children. He had seen Walter ripping the kids apart. He remembered the cannibal dogs he thought he'd imagined. He saw himself and Walter in a dark room. Himself holding a gun and Walter bleeding. Dead. He wanted it so badly. To kill Walter. It would be all his labors sweet fruitions. His mind jumped back to what Neely said. Cut through the red tape. Then the dogs returned. The blood was slopping from their mouths. Their snouts caked in grease and gore.

Andrew awoke with a scream. His mind then adapted to the world of the waking. His head was foggy like the town outside.

He went to the cabinet to reach out to his liquid muse. Her name was apparently Jack Daniels. But occasionally went by Jose Cuervo. He made a plan. He'd decided to take out Walter. He didn't care about jail time. He took another swig from the bottle. His mind was blurred. He just wanted to do the right thing. Yet another swig. He binged on booze that night. Reality slipped in and out for Sloan. He groaned in an alcoholic slum and fell unconscious again.


End file.
